The Petting Zoo
by reminiscent-afterthought
Summary: Peter Pettigrew's descent wasn't necessarily marked by his enemies, but more so by a warped definition of friendship and the tale of a mouse's courage. For MissSadieKane's Death Eater Childhood Competition.


**A/N: **This is written for MissSadieKane's Death Eater Childhood Competition. This is also my first time writing a purely HP fic. I normally cross it with Digimon Frontier and focus on the latter.

Enjoy.

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_**The Petting Zoo**_

Peter Pettigrew came off as a rather pitiable character. Anyone who knew a sliver of his heritage knew he had the misfortune of being born to a Squib mother and a Muggle father. Indeed, many of his mother's acquaintances – who largely kept their distance from the woman unable to manage a simple Summoning spell – doubted their only son could ever amount to anything. The Muggle community on the other hand looked to him with extreme pity; after all, not only was his mother halfway mad, raving on about Merpeople and Unicorns while she cleaned with a tiny little rag greyed with soot and sprouting a hole halfway down, but his father was both unemployed and an alcoholic. Few knew exactly what went on in the Pettigrew household, but rumours immediately began to spread when the small and rather mousy looking boy entered his first year of elementary school.

His stringy hair, bordering between brown and blond, hung limply across his skull, and his eyes, small and beady, sunk somewhat into their sockets. From the first day he'd been labelled by some of the older students as the perfect target…until a boy his age and a little bigger decided all the other needed was a companion.

Born from pity, the relationship didn't last all that long. The boy left, and while he kept in contact with some of his friends for a stretch of time afterwards, Peter himself never received a letter. He was, essentially speaking, back to square one.

Still, the reprieve from tales and taunts had latched onto his mind. Perhaps it did have its roots in his upbringing after all; his mother, despite being caught up in her Wonderland – or so he believed until he reached the age of eleven and received his Hogwarts letter – was a strong willed woman. She had to be, otherwise the small white-haired figure would have been rotting in a psychiatric institution long before Peter reached the age where he could care from himself…and his father certainly didn't seem capable of the act. There was never any violence in the house, contrary to rumours, because Mrs Pettigrew put a stop to that. Small as she may be, she was a fierce woman, and even the most indulgent and intoxicated man knew to step down when she stood up. He was always safe because his mother loved her only child, giving him leave to cling to her skirt as she banished her cooking spoon, yelling curses that sounded Latin and something about Boggarts and Hungarian Horntails.

Perhaps the neighbours had been right to speak of Mrs Pettigrew's inability to raise her son, but since they never did anything, the case fell before ever rising to the platform. By the time his Hogwarts letter had come, he'd made three more "friends" only to lose them in the same way. By that time, the definition of friendship had solidified in his head to mean the strongest person: the one who defended him from those who meant him harm.

Entering into the world of Magic should have been an experience that opened doors…but he went in with the biasness over his head of possessing a Squib mother. Unfortunately, at the time, Squibs were frowned upon…even though they'd come far from some twenty years hence when they and their offspring were ejected out of Magical society and forced to live like Muggles. Suddenly, the things deemed "unusual" around the house, those to which his mother pointed and then pressed a finger to her lip, made sense. The little cloth that managed to clean an entire house. The pots that managed to retain their cooking capabilities. The funny wrist-watch that had planets around its face instead of the time.

'This will be yours one day,' she said proudly, showing it to him the day his letter came. 'It's passed onto a Wizard or Witch when they become of age. My poor old father, bless his soul, never got the chance to pass it on, so it came to me in his will. But you'll be wearing it one day, won't you darling?'

She'd never been prouder of him than when he attained his wand from Ollivanders: Hazel and Unicorn Hair, 9 ¾ inches. The wand itself wasn't deemed to be anything special; a lot of wands possessed Unicorn Hair after all, and Hazel was a rather sensitive wood by all means and not necessarily the best in any kind of duels in particular. Not that it mattered at the time.

It didn't take long before the point became important; in fact, he'd barely made it on to the train when he got caught between two lumps of men and their blonde headed leader with his Elm wand.

He'd pulled his own out, and the three laughed.

'Well, well, well,' the Elm-user smirked. 'What do we have here? A first-year who thinks he can strut his stuff?'

'Half blood,' one of the blonde's two larger companions muttered under his breath, and the other let out a bark of laughter.

'How about you wash that bleached hair of yours?' a newcomer commented in a cool tone.

'Hmmph,' the blonde scowled, turning away after a half-glance at his companion 'Black.'

'Malfoy,' the boy with the curly black hair returned with far more coldness than was warranted, giving the situation.

And so he became friends with James Potter and Sirius Black, and later, Remus Lupin.

He fell back into the routine of being pitied and thus shielded by stronger friends, perhaps so much so his warped meaning of friendship persisted through the age. If he had learnt the truth sooner, perhaps the sad fate for all of them could have been avoided. Perhaps they would all have died in honour then…but alas, no. Despite the fact that the Marauders – despite whatever their initial intention had been – came to view Peter as a brother and treated him as such, his failed to divert from that of his "friends" from elementary school to whom he functioned as a recipient of pity and a pedestal for self-image. They were the sort of people one hero-worshipped. They were the sort of people who amassed followers, who one day became something. James would grin flippantly and wave his wand with a casual flick of his wrist and half the people present would be chortling, tears pouring down their eyes. He possessed a natural flair for that sort of thing, and Sirius was no worse.

Through that first spell at Hogwarts, the words of the Sorting Hat blared through his mind.

'Courage comes in all shapes and forms, from the smallest mouse to the largest lion. Sometimes it's just honouring a friendship, or a bond. It doesn't have to be standing up in a fight.'

But in the later years, it was forgotten as life within the walls grew better…and outside grew worse. His father passed away in his third year with little sorrow spent on the perpetually drunk man…but he found himself somewhat sad anyway when he went home and found his mother slumped over the kitchen table for much of the Summer Break. That was the least of the issues though, as a wizard by the name of Voldermort began to form ranks outside the castle…and within. His very name soon began to strike fear in all Wizards and Witches…save a select few and most of them Gryffindors, including his three friends. People, particularly the teachers and several older groups of students, had become accustomed to the fact that he wasn't as strong or as smart as his peers. 'Why was he in Gryffindor?' they'd wander aloud, and in perfectly audible range. They judged mostly on his Transfiguration marks, which were abysmal at best, and DADA which he was flunking…rather badly. In fact, it was amazing how many overlooked the single O he managed to score in Charms; it paled in significance to the A he'd barely managed to scrape in the several of his other subjects…although the E in Potions was considered a job well done. His friends clasped him on the back. His mother gave him a hug and mumbled something. Professor McGonagall expressed her disappointment at one of her Lions receiving such a poor mark in her own subject.

During that period, something else began to happen. And it was something only he had expected. The Marauders began to drift apart. It began with James finally scoring a date with his long-time crush Lily Evans…no, it started before that, when he, in the terms of several others, began to "deflate his ego". One thing led to another, and suddenly he was faced with the prospect of having hours which he could spend with his "friends"…and situations wherein he could not rely on them to back him up. And it continued on into their adulthood where James and Lily finally married, Sirius their best man…and the war reached its peak.

He was a part of the Order, because James, Sirius and Remus were a part of it, and because the Order was strong. But Voldermort was far stronger. The Death Eaters were more numerous, and willing to go to lengths that of the Light Side were not. In the Order – even in that tight-knit group that Dumbledore headed with his Phoenix familiar – no-one could be entirely sure who to trust. And they were vastly outnumbered.

That was how he managed to bump into several old adversaries while on his own. And when given the choice to exchange his life for another's or to die himself, he chose the former. At least then he would be alive. James…James was a strong Wizard, a strong person. Not him; he was weak.

In later years, he would come to recall the words of the Sorting Hat, and they would both save him and condemn him in the last moments of what most viewed as a feeble life.

_**End of The Petting Zoo**_

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**A/N: **Word count: 1,649 words (excluding title and extra notes)

I think this came out a little more melodramatic than I intended. Oh well…good enough for a first attempt at a Harry Potter fic that doesn't involve Digimon I suppose. The only thing I could find about Pettigrew's mother was that she had connections with the Wizarding world and got Pettigrew's finger and the Order of Merlin when he faked his death. I don't recall there ever being a mention as to whether she was a witch or not, so I've made her a Squib…which makes Pettigrew a half-blood. There are a lot of half-blood Death Eaters after all, and Wormtail isn't exactly in Voldermort's higher echelons.

Pettigrew's first wand: I made it Hazel and Unicorn hair because I don't recall it ever being mentioned what wand he originally had. The second was Chestnut and Dragon Heartstring, 9 ¼ inches. Hazel wands fall apart upon their owner's death, particularly if they're made with Unicorn Hair. Hazel also somewhat absorbs the emotions of the user, and is capable of outstanding magic in the hands of the skilful. That's somewhat arguable, but he pulled off that potion. He pulled off killing 12/13 Muggles. He pulled off becoming an Animagus…albeit with help.

The last line…the views of his "death" vary, but his life is largely pitiable no matter whether they knew the truth or not. I'm pretty sure Harry looked/said something in the third book, and either Dumbledore or Lupin…or maybe it was the movie. Haven't read/seen either since some time early last year.

As for the title…think on it. It's not that hard to figure out. :)

Thanks for reading.


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